An Uncomfortable Question
by TheInkEngraver
Summary: Post Inside Job, Smokescreen has a question based on his experience as a prisoner for Ratchet, which deeply unsettles the old medic. It reminds him how, despite training and war, some 'Bots are really just younglings. *ON HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

**For all those Smokescreen fans out there! **

**This will be either a two-shot or three-shot, depending on the direction it decides to take, though it will probably be the former.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; as per usual, the rights all belong to someone a whole lot luckier than me!**

* * *

"Once more, into the brain pan." Knock Out seemed resigned and annoyed with these orders.

"No! Not again, stay out of my head!" Smokescreen, on the other hand, was terrified.

Then the adrenaline had kicked in (figuratively) as the young Autobot saw his chance to escape, which he grasped with both servos.

He was never going through that again.

* * *

Dusk was falling as a heavy backdrop against the abandoned missile silo that housed the _Autobot Outpost Omega One_ as its residents prepared to relax, finally. Normally, fighting an eon-long war as refugees on a planet with _fragile_ life-forms was stressful enough, but today they'd been whirled off on a rollercoaster of emotions.

Worry for Smokescreen and what the Decepticons were doing to him.

Relief when his comm. had come through.

A sharp stab of sadness when the rookie's signal had been lost.

Elation that, no, he was actually fine, and had managed to secure two Omega Keys, bringing their total up to three.

Speculation regarding the final one.

Suspicion at Starscream's message.

And, last of all, concern at what the rogue 'Con would do with the power he now held.

It had taken them a long time to clean up after the sprinkler system, as water now soaked the entire base, and, while it didn't affect the Autobots, the human equipment wasn't so fortunate. Despite their best efforts, water dripped in rivulets down the stairs and platforms to pool on the concrete below. Eventually deciding that the humans could help them finish the job the next day _("Hopefully keeping Miko out of trouble for a moment," _grumbled Ratchet), the 'Bots turned in, more than ready for a good recharge.

The old medic however, had one last task he knew he must carry out before the luxury of a power-down could happen.

"Smokescreen, please can I see you briefly in the med-bay?" Although the way he phrased it didn't leave much room for negotiation.

"Sure Doc, what's up?" Even at this Primus-forsaken hour the rookie managed to bounce around with too much energy.

"Will you please stand still! I need to run a few scans, to make sure the Decepticons haven't caused you any damage. I also require a brief report on what happened up there, for my records; however that can wait until after Optimus has debriefed you."

Smokescreen groaned heavily, "come on Ratch', can't it wait till morning? My pedes are aching from all the action with the 'Cons today!"

"Well then, if your pedes are sore, by all means, just pop back tomorrow," came the overly-sarcastic retort.

"Really?" Hope glimmered in the rookie's optics.

"Of course not, you little glitchspawn! Will a Decepticon virus or tracking beacon just 'wait till morning'? If they have implanted something within you, the sooner I find and remove it, the better for us all. Now get over here!"

"_Nngh," _was the only answer Smokescreen was able to form as he trooped dejectedly into Ratchet's lair, fully anticipating an interrogation. At least the Hatchet had so far had enough patience _not_ to throw one of his famous wrenches at his helm yet.

* * *

"Good, good, your energon levels are stable, considering the fact that you haven't had the opportunity to refuel since yesterday, and my scans have failed to detect any malignant or intrusive software. And, no tracer beacon, incredibly. You've gotten off very lightly." Ratchet seemed pleasantly surprised with his discovery.

"What did I tell you? Those Decepticreeps couldn't touch me!" A small pause followed; "to be honest though, I don't think they were expecting my escape. From the way they were acting, I'd say they thought I was going to be with them for a while. It was only a mistake on Doc Knock's part that allowed me to grab the phase shifter and haul aft."

"Well then, praise the Allspark for small miracles." the medic's tone shifted from its ordinary caustic setting to one required by his field of specialisation - concern. "Are you alright?"

"Ratchet, has your processor fried? You've just scanned me and said there's nothing wrong!"

"No, no! Not like that! What I meant was; how do you _feel_ about the experience?"

"Like I said, my pedes are killing me!" However Smokescreen's attempt at downplaying his capture sounded false.

The old medic regarded the younger 'Bot with a scrutinising gaze for a few seconds, as if trying to see any unsaid problems, during which the latter fidgeted, awkwardly. At last, apparently satisfied, Ratchet relented. "Fine. Go and recharge. But don't hesitate to come back if something's bothering you."

"Thanks Doc, will do."

And with that, Smokescreen pranced off, still containing far too much energy.

"Younglings. . ." Ratchet muttered.

* * *

The next morning dawned cool, bright, and incredibly _noisy_.

Far too soon for the medic's liking, the three human children had been brought to the base by their respective guardians, excited for at the prospect of a school-less, 'Bot-filled day lounging around playing video games.

That is, they _were_, until Ratchet blithely handed them each a mop and informed them that the TV was out of commission at present.

"Not cool. Botswana got hit by the rains, boys!" Miko grumbled.

Choosing to ignore her, Jack instead addressed his guardian. "So, Arcee, what happened to the base? It's not every day the sprinkler system springs a leak."

"Starscream. Turns out his comm. for help was little more than a ploy to raid the base. He managed to get away with all of our Omega Keys, thanks to the red energon he was hyped up on."

"Wait, what?!"

Incredulous that the humans weren't up to date with their latest crisis, Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee proceeded to fill them in. Smokescreen joined the conversation with his usual rowdiness soon after, the three children hanging, captivated, onto every word of his greatly exaggerated tale from his stay aboard the _Nemesis_.

At one point, Bumblebee jumped in, clearly correcting his fellow Autobot - despite Jack and Miko not being able to understand him - which led to an argument (good-natured, obviously), and a playful fight.

Even the normally stoic Arcee joined the others in cheering as the two young Cybertronians tussled on the floor, both matched in size and strength, exerting all of their abundant energy into the game.

Eventually the commotion became too much for Ratchet, and the medic stormed out from his workstation, seething. "Can you lot never be _quiet_ for more than ten minutes?! I am trying to work here! And you two," he pointed at the pair lying in a heap on the floor, "I cannot believe that you've sunk to wrestling like a pair of overgrown sparklings! Now _behave_!"

Once the medic had slouched back to his domain, grousing about _"fraggin' younglings"_, Bulkhead leaned down to console the two downcast 'Bots. "Don't worry, Ratch' will have forgotten all about this by tomorrow. It's just in his nature to be like that."

"So, who wants to watch a movie?" Miko piped up after a second of silence.

"We can't, remember? The TV shorted out," Raf replied quietly.

"Then let's go buy another one! I'm sure Fowler has some cash lying around here."

"Even if he did, I highly doubt that he would allow you, Miko, of all people, to buy a replacement." Arcee said, not unkindly.

"Great. Soggy sofas, no tech, and one grouchy Doc 'Bot. Just how I wanted to spend my Saturday." The girl in question flopped down onto one of the aforementioned sofas and sighed.

Bumblebee suddenly started beeping and gesticulating wildly.

"That's a great idea 'Bee!" his human partner said excitedly, before translating for the other kids. "He thinks we should design how the base would look if Agent Fowler and Ratchet weren't around to control everything."

"You know, that might not actually be a bad way to pass the time," Arcee conceded.

"Wicked! I would have a _giant_ plasma TV, surround-sound stereo system, soda machine. . ." the Japanese girl launched straight into her vision for a new base, the others quickly joining in.

No-one noticed however, that Smokescreen was fairly subdued – he chipped in ideas every so often, but lacked his usual rambunctious personality. A troubled look graced his faceplates when he thought he was unobserved, and his gaze kept moving to the medic working away silently at a computer terminal.

Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. Stepping lightly over to the older 'Bot, the rookie looked almost nervous as he approached. "Hey, Ratch'."

"What do you want this time, Smokescreen?" The reply to the greeting was curt, clearly suggesting that the inquirer was not welcome.

"I. . . um, I was wondering. . . never mind." Faltering, the young Autobot seemed to lose confidence.

"Then leave me in peace!" came the annoyed exclamation.

"Sure thing, sorry Doc." As he turned away, an impulsive streak of resolve flared deep within him, and he swung round to gaze at the medic intently.

"Ratchet, what's a Patch?"

* * *

**Oooh, what will the Hatchet make of that?**

**The basis of this fanfic came when watching the last part of _Prime's_ season two again. Smokescreen can be so childish and naïve at times, and his 'No, not again', line from _Inside Job _did make him appear much more innocent and confused as to what was happening. Also, ****later in _Regeneration_ he seemed to spit out the word 'Patch', which makes me wonder if something deeper was at work. The children were absent from most of the Omega Key episodes as well, only to pop back up in _Regeneration_ completely clued in to the situation.**

**Please read and review!**

**TheInkEngraver**


	2. Chapter 2

**Apologies for the disgracefully long wait between posts; I'm afraid that I was separated from both my writing muse **_**and**_** my writing implements.**

**But a huge thank-you to all those who reviewed, followed and favourited this story - this is for you! :-)**

* * *

"Ratchet, what's a Patch?" He asked again.

"What do you mean?" The old medic gazed searchingly at Smokescreen, feigning ignorance, but feeling his spark grow heavy. "A Patch, as in, a Cortical Psychic Patch, or a patch, as in, a patch to cover a wound?"

_Please, Primus, don't be the one I think it is._

The young bot shuffled his pedes uneasily, optics not quite focusing on anything in particular. "Umm. . . the one which allows the Decepticons to do something to your mind."

_Oh, youngling._

However much Ratchet wanted to finish the rookie's sentence, brush over his EM field with warm feelings, his duty as medic required him to keep his distance. He needed to be absolutely sure about what he was dealing with; just in case there was a tiny chance he was mistaken. "Can you elaborate further for me, please?" He probed, keeping his tone gentle.

"I. . . urgh. . . I-I dunno!" Smokescreen's vocaliser stuttered, trying to describe something he had no words for. "It was all really confusing; Knock Out had pulled the Omega Key out of my chassis - and then Megatron was stomping around inside my processor. . . and I couldn't control anything and I didn't know if it was real or not!" His voice rose higher with tangible agitation.

_You poor, poor newspark._

"I see. It appears that they did, indeed, use a Cortical Psychic Patch on you: to mine information contained within your memories," the old medic winced internally at his unintendedly brusque manner, and this time followed his spark to reach out and try to lightly cover Smokescreen's EM field with his own.

The reassuring feelings he was broadcasting were quickly shunned as the young bot's field crackled and contracted - a clear sign of unwanted, turbulent emotions. "Stop fussing Ratch', I'm not a sparkling."

"I wasn't intending to to offend you; merely I thought you'd benefit from some support to your EM fiel-"

"Because of my age? Because of my _failure? _You don't have to pity me; I know what this could mean! But I don't know what memories they accessed - all of my files were disturbed and jumbled about. I'm a grown mech, not just the rookie that messes everything up!" Smokescreen ranted, anger rising predominantly over all else. He turned suddenly, and rushed away, back to his room, uncaring for the blatant disregard of authority he'd carried out, leaving the old medic staring, shocked, at his retreating back. The other Autobots and the human children continued chatting away, oblivious to their newest recruit's distress.

* * *

"I don't know what to do Optimus," Ratchet confided in his old friend later that evening, "he's clearly been deeply affected by this, but has refused all of my attempts at helping him thus far."

"Do you have any ideas as to why this is so?"

"Maybe it's because he _is_ young, and desperate to prove himself, however I feel that it's more likely down to the fact that he's still trying to cement his position on the team."

"Why would this be? It was my understanding that our new recruit had been welcomed into our ranks." The Prime's voice took on a concerned tone.

"No! It's nothing we've done! Younglings are finicky by nature in these situations - they instinctively look for comfort when distressed, but Smokescreen hasn't settled in enough to know who he can turn to; especially since he's determined to act like a fully grown mech."

"Then, how are you intending to solve this dilemma?" The Autobot leader began to gently prod for a solution.

The old medic sighed heavily. "And therein lies my problem. If it was Bumblebee, I would know exactly what to do."

A frown settled over the Autobot leader's features. "How is this any different?"

Ratchet looked taken aback, "Optimus, I've been in contact with 'Bee for cycles, particularly during the aftermath of Tyger Pax. Building a bond takes time, something which we haven't had the luxury of lately."

"Well, it appears now is as prudent an occasion to start as there will ever be. I hope your endeavours are met with success." Using that advice as a parting – and an order – the mighty Prime walked off, leaving Ratchet alone to mull it over.

* * *

The rookie sat on the edge of his berth, servos tightly clasped into fists.

He was aware that yelling at Ratchet was gross insubordination.

He also didn't care.

A feeling of being both useless and used swept through his frame, spark-deep, like when he'd been supposed to protect Alpha Trion - instead ending up captured on-board a Decepticon prison ship.

_Can I never do anything right?_

The only thing Smokescreen longed to do was curl up, covered by the blanket of an older bot's EM field; letting him know that everything would turn out fine, despite his mistakes. Ever since he'd graduated from the Elite Guard, though, he'd had no such luxury. After all, he was a Fully Mature Mech now.

_Primus, how does Bumblebee manage?_

Accessing his data banks in an attempt to reorganise the files scattered by Megatron's rampage while looking for information on the Omega Keys, the rookie found his answer.

The young scout looked to the rest of Team Prime, even Optimus, whenever he felt down: they were more than happy to oblige a small indulgence such as a pat on the shoulder or light touching of EM fields. And yet, they still respected him.

The contradictory actions flummoxed Smokescreen.

If he acted like that, they'd never take him seriously - particularly Arcee.

So to say he was surprised when a knock came at the door was an understatement. No-one knocked on his door. Ever.

"Yes? Did something happen?" he forced his tone to take on its usual jovial characteristics.

"Smokescreen, please may I come in? It's Ratchet."

"Umm, sure thing Doc," the pretence dropped with the opening of the door as the rookie looked down, ashamed with his earlier behaviour.

"Guess I owe you an apology. Sorry."

The medic stepped into the room. "While I would advise you not to repeat your actions, I am willing to forgive you considering the circumstances."

"Thanks." Smokescreen was still acting subdued.

"I am also partly to blame, I feel, because of the manner in which I conducted myself."

"N-no," a half-hearted attempt at refusing the vindication. "I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Clearing his vocaliser as he sat down on a corner of the berth, Ratchet began, sweeping his critical gaze over the hunched posture of his patient. "Look, I'm not going to deny the obvious. I shall be straightforward - it's the least I can do."

Smokescreen's small nod served as a prompt.

"Honestly, I am uncomfortable with the situation - we both are. More than anyone, I realise how much you require stability as a youngling," the rookie seemed on the verge of interrupting, "hold on, let me finish! I am aware, though, that you haven't been here with us for terribly long, and as a result lack the bond that facilitates said reassurances."

"What do you think, then?" The young bot turned his optics to meet those of his superior.

"Bumblebee's interactions with the rest of the team confuse you." It was a statement rather than a question.

"A little bit, yeah."

"You need to know that it's nothing you've done; merely the simple reason that here on Earth, Team Prime has been small and close-knit for quite a while. The others will warm up to you in time."

"I know."

"Good."

Another pause of awkward silence.

"Smokescreen, if you ever need to release any worries or lean on an EM field, I would be happy to help. And I won't respect you any less for it." There. The offer was laid out.

Fidgeting slightly, the younger bot said simply, "thank-you, Ratchet."

So they sat there, on the berth, not touching physically.

Rigid in posture, hesitant.

Their EM fields bushing against one another.

(Just a little bit).

Because at least it was a start.

* * *

**There - I hope it was alright, I wasn't sure whether I managed to portray Smokescreen and Ratchet quite right! Writing a lot of speech isn't something I've done before, but I couldn't figure out how else to stage it, so apologies if it's not up to scratch.**

**TheInkEngraver**


End file.
